Long Nazm Poems
Long Nazm Poems. Below are the most popular long Nazm by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Nazm poems by poem length and keyword.
In the expanse of the vast blue canvas above,
Where birds tell tales in the silence of flight,
Their wings, artisans of an unseen story,
And the wind, a subtle bard, whispers concealed longing.
Nature, a poet draped in the hues of twilight,
Clouds, the orchestra composing a captivating melody,
An unspoken symphony, beauty defying verbal capture,
The sky, a vast canvas, and nature, a graceful dancer in unwritten verses.
As morning unveils itself, the sun, a warm storyteller,
Leaves murmur tender secrets in the gentle wind's embrace,
Hearts take flight on the wings of elusive dreams,
Love poetry blossoms in the profound silence within.
Suns embrace the world with tender arms,
Flowers bloom, each petal weaving a tapestry of hope,
Amidst the foliage, love unfolds an endless narrative,
This poetry, a rhythmic cadence guiding our steps towards a harmonious dusk.
Night, a silent painter, blankets the world in darkness,
Stars, brilliant jewels adorning the cosmic tapestry,
Soft light pirouettes upon the water's surface,
The silence of the night, an artistry of unspoken words.
Poetry of the night emerges from immeasurable beauty,
Moon shadows sketch dreams behind veiled clouds,
Silent stories meander through the tranquil darkness,
This poetry, a symphony of night, resonating with the gentle notes of peace.
Winding through a city that never slumbers,
Footsteps echo in harmony with swift-paced lives,
Concrete and towering edifices frame the stage,
Hidden tales of hearts, protagonists in the clamor.
Street poetry etches itself in the pavement's embrace,
Concrete walls, stoic witnesses to life's unfolding drama,
Stories folded like origami in the asphalt trail,
This poetry, a reflection, a sonnet to a city that ceaselessly articulates.
Rain, a choreographer, orchestrates a soft ballet on rooftops,
Each droplet, a note in a melodious composition,
Earth, a grateful audience to the sky's generosity,
Rain poetry, an eternal serenade in liquid verses.
Every drop, a strophe written by the nimble quill of the sky,
The rustle of rain, a dialect translated by the earth,
Earth and sky entwined in a ballet of grace,
This poetry, an ode of gratitude sung by the vast expanse of the timeless cosmos.
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The Goblet of Desire
Saki! Come pour the wine in cups of yearning
My heart is bleeding, pour the goblet's blood,
The Tavern has its fame from your beguiling eyes
Your lovely eyes' intoxicant pour in the cup!
The flower garden is no match to steal my heart
Your face's flower petals are usurpers fine,
Your ruby lip so life-giving is spring of youth
The red ruby of life pour down upon my lips!
The flower petal rubs its breast upon the thorn
The eye-lashes of morning dew to prick the flowers veins,
The fingers of musicians do caress the spirit's harp
The heart of bottle open and fill up the veins with fire!
Lighted is the Tavern with the radiance of your face
You steal the heart with so much charm dear love,
A glance from you can stir the wine to dance,
Come pour till the morning the mixture that cures the heart!
The Tavern is a shelter for the heart which is afflicted
The burning heart and tearful eyes are precious,
The cries we have are those from the night of disappointment
To quench my thirst pour down a river running full of wine!
The Tavern is the realm reserved for hostages of sorrow
The cries are only translators of painfully sad nights,
The world of those who feel is such a sweet and lovely world
Whatever love you're carrying, pour everything right here!
Qasem Ghazanfar,
Translated from the Persian
by the author
Definitely the place to devour corruption corrupt city officials so valid and vile orchestrated by a fatal attraction who slept with my spouse wearing a rubber badge from a strip club in Tampa bay shooting into my home to attack my livelihood to extort my American poetry my blessings are I arrived in spring field Illinois 1969 from Joseph medill elementary school of journalism Chicago Illinois where I sat singing civil rights hymns at Abraham Lincoln home sadly my stalker from Tampa decided to end my life over my identity obsessed with my growing up in Chicago meeting cicely Tyson this imposter tried to murder me she actually stooped to an all time low to take down corrupt city officials with her I feel sad this person that obsessed with my American poetry I’m not a scholar I’m just a write a quote from Gwendolyn Brooks I think it is sad to have stalkers obsessed with your life enough attempt to murder you god bless America god bless American writers and poets stalkers are out there preying on your work I pray I could be a living example of this horrid extortion if not living in death I pray I die for this sheer terror on American soil Ciro Gargano was obsessed with me he hired jay Townsend Johnson Henry to become me after death and cover several arson murders the reason the FBI warned me telling me my life was in danger this resulted in my wearing wires pregnant buying weapons and drugs from Ciro garganos corrupt dealers my life was threatened and this stalker plotted my death I reached out to the federal bureau of investigation Chicago but I believe my being emotionally traumatized left me alone I pray the Supreme Court justice get to the bottom of government scum hiding behind Jamaican isis drug dealers in Tampa bay you’re going to have to kill me dear I am Chicago I am America I'm unafraid of stalkers domestic terrorists comprised dat abuse of power intimidation bullying identity fraud in America God bless America
Raqs Zangeer Pehen Kar Bhi Kiya Jata Hay.
“I love you. I can’t live without you. I am sorry.”
She is bleeding from her nose.
She frowns at him and run outside.
He follows her, “Please stop, don’t worry. Don’t leave me.
It is a mistake. You hurt my pride.
You question me and my love for you.
By not listening to what I asked for and not following through.”
He bawls, “I don’t mean to hurt you. I am trying to control.
I am your husband and it is my role,
To keep you in-line and in-check.
To stop you from becoming the crazy chick.”
She opens the door.
Looks at herself in the mirror, hanging in the corridor.
Her nose is bleeding. Her face is red.
“How can I go in the public, after my nose bleed?”
Her hesitant feet, shaky hands and embarrassed face.
He sees that and knows that he has win this race.
“No one will trust you.” He says to her.
“No one will understand that why you kept on living with me.
I am a respectable and honorable man.
If you think you can destroy me by leaving, outside is your van.”
He orders, “You can take your filthy, incompetent self out of my home.
My kids are staying with me. You can’t take them out of their room.”
She freezes, closing the door behind her.
Her head down, face wet and her eyes blurry.
And when she speaks it is as if everything is rosy.
She says, “I love you and, I know that you’re sorry.”
That was yesterday.
Sitting next to him in the car with kids in the back.
Everyone looks happy, everyone is gay.
She glances at his olive face and whispers to her heart.
“I am so glad that my family is intact.
Not to break them apart is so smart.”
He kiss her on her branded cheek.
When he gets out of the car.
Opening the car door for her he proclaims.
“You are my princess, my heartbeat. You are my better half.”
And
What happened yesterday? Just flushes out of her memory and heart.
And it ends up in the gutter.
Saadia Syed
Making house calls for syphilis the disease not the woman keeping wives from finding out the nature of her husband mob wives really supports their husbands hiding out hiring mafia doctors to create fake death certificates when the time comes he has to act fast before all the wiseguys he killed began to surface all the dead bodies began to smell many times the dead bodies are of women who actually seen heard or knew to much they must be silenced the reason for the car bomb blast that crushed my skull Retep was furious when I contacted the fbi about break ins my poetry being ripped my mental health journal on my night stand I’d written about arson murder of nine Ciro Gargano and my ex husbands together torched a building resulting in 9 deaths for years I spent in therapy afraid of my shadow being abused by my ex husbands to silence me finally the fbi had Peter tied to the drug monies at Ma house because Peter trusted his lover Ethel Gray to take the stash whose husband went straight to the fbi sending Peter into hiding while receiving from cancer treatment imagine that meanwhile his brother Ciro Gargano waiting for retep to die so the mafia doctors could pronounce the death and allow Ciro to actually become Peter after death these two we’re treacherous threatening my life following me to my heart doctors offering them monies to give me the wrong shot or worse this failed because I’m still here with great doctors in my life over 30 plus years now I’m truly blessed my prayers are with the Gargano family they are empty killers and their are victims decomposing waiting to be found Ciro retep Gargano signs their death certificates with his Mafia doctors welcome to the empty memorial gardens fort Myers Florida the only real grave is Ma her husband Lil Pete and Peters daughter Lisa their sister Marie they killed her for marrying a Detroit mobster oh well better go gotta send flowers again
After so many countries, now in Syria,
Increasing is the western bacteria,
The bacteria of hypocrisy and lies,
Which is in a dangerous disguise,
Under the banner of help and peace,
They seems like a white fleece,
They do things very secretly,
Pursuing interests very actively,
What they want is just conflicts?
In the entire world's districts,
They like when people kill each other,
Its how indirectly they do smother,
Try to understand that what is a war?
Because it opens up the profits door,
For the imperialists and dictators,
And of course their very own creators,
When imperialists start a war,
They make sure that its paid for,
So they pose to help by selling arms,
As if they are selling them charms,
In return of arms they make money,
So much that its not even funny,
On the other hand people also die,
In the region where they don't comply,
They want the entire world to obey,
Their orders and want them to say okay!
As long as one stays this way,
A nice attitude they will display,
But for instance if one says "NO" to them,
At first they get angry and hem,
And then come bans and sanctions,
Penalties all kinds of aggressions,
And still if they are not successful,
They wage a war to make stressful,
So that's what they did in Syria,
It was their anger and hysteria,
Because they couldn't do anything,
And through a war they wanted to sting,
But they forgot that who they are facing,
And what kind of a enemy they are racing?
They already are, their army, replacing,
And because of defeats they are reducing,
The Takfiri terrorists they brought in,
Are ruthless and not even human,
They are ripping chests of people,
And eating their hearts like animal,
So west and its cruel tactics,
Has nothing to do with the ethics,
So once and for all everyone,
Let's finish savagery which has begun.
All rights are reserved. Syed Imon Rizvi
(unfit
category
but no
choice.)
Life would
be
worthless
and
short
If this is
the only
dear life
we
have
Great
plans just
death can
abort
to be
useless
once you
met
your grave.
And for
those who
die young,
in
chilhood's
tender
ages
How short
and
incomplete
life
would be
How
unfair and
unlucky if
death's
the end
for them
Besides
life to the
fullest is
eternity.
What
about
those who
born
and die
poor
or those
born deaf,
blind or
lame
What if
they were
so
doomed
without
any cure
How
unlucky if
resurrection
never
came!
But a
belief that
there's a
life
after this
could be
of great
consolation
and solace
especially
to the
poor
handicapped,
the
shortlived
that they
could
make it up
under
heaven's
grace!
For the
good one
who is
born
blind
In heaven
shall he in
brighter
vision see
And the
goodly
one yet
who
has lost
his mind
will in the
afterlife
be as sane
as could be
The deaf
man with
his balance
of pious
acts
Only the
hereafter
would
compensate
what he
lacks
And that
godly one
born poor
and who
dies poor
could be
of the
richest at
heaven's
door
In this life
those
who've
been
saintly yet
unable to
talk
could
cheer up
to believe
what
heaven
has in
stock
For this
world can
be misery,
heaven's
the place
to rock
In this
world at
times
you've
to let the
hawks
gawk
Knowing
your
tormentor
in
heaven
shall ye
mock
Thus for a
true
happy
ever
after
for an
abode of
mirth and
laughter
Work
towards
thy
hereafter
A divine
place
devoid of
disaster!
Your severe terrorists threats ring out like bombs like I’m bin laden when actually you used your corrupt badge to try and extort my American poetry for my killers thee Gargano crime family obsession with my livelihood because they blew up my skull with a car bomb because Peter adored my American poetry terrorist threats because my African American grandfather was hired to protect the cardinals future pope’s catholics hiding from Hitler at Saint Sebastian church your bullying shoot to kill U66 shoot to kill represents a shoot to kill on my life to be killed because I refuse to allow gargano to extort my American poetry U66 shoot to kill civil rights activist leaders and their children no I will never ever forgive American domestic terrorist you are fake news fraud bullies terrorizing me for not allowing an imposter to extort my American poetry kill me now I’m American I am American back off Gargano crime family of corruption you are dangerous violent scum shoot me for my own poetry well I’m Medger Evers go ahead shoot I’m Mr Little shoot I’m Martin Luther King shoot me many have died for less and I have been suicidal not sure if I could go to heaven but I challenge you to shoot me Ciro Gargano Peter Gargano and your entire clan shoot me over my American poetry invest my traumatic brain injury claim go ahead shoot to kill me 1966 shoot all civil rights advocates and their families what a perfect death good idea I’m in I’m unafraid shoot to kill me you missed 8-14-2003 Rasta Andrew died coming to end my life over my American poetry so now you’re back shoot I’m here do it
God bless America
Supreme Court Justice
Civil rights advocates
Organized Crime law
It was a crisp day October 27th 1942
that's when my pop set out for WW11
right after my grandmother Nona
gave birth to my dad orders arrived
his job assignment was to protect the
priest arch bishops and future Pope's
being captured and killed for their
religious belief safety guarded in
Saint Sebastian church in Rome
the actual sight where Saint Sebastian
was arrowed to death I adore my military
family my husband saved Pow's during Vietnam
two uncles served and now my granddaughter
the history of thee armed forces within my
family is quite a treasure my pop protected
Pope Benedict and stood side by side
Pope Saint John XX111 1944 during
the Victory after liberating Italy he would
often shed tears about the mafia in America
with Al Capone how they actually portrayed
all Italians as criminals left a sore spot for my
own great grandmother born Mason Vicentino
all of pop's letter from war read somewhere
in Italy Apo New York my Pop died at 97 years
old clutching this photo of Arch bishop Pope
Saint John XX111 he made me swore on his
death bed to protect it from the mafia hoodlums
so it would stay in the hands of the Vatican
sadly Mafia hoods broke into my home trying
to retrieve the photo without success I'd copied
it several times sharing with the Knights of Columbus
the Abby of Monks the Franciscan sisters Arch Bishop
most Reverend Cardinal Francis George of Chicago
of course storing the original for safe keeping
and Honor for the sake of his sorrowful passion
over Saint Peters Square Di Vatican in Rome
my Roman heritage Somewhere in Rome I'm home
SUNA AASAMA......Hindi poem
aaj aasamaann suna suna hai , chaand bhee gum hai
mandrara rahe hai kaale baadal ,
chha raha hai ghor andhera
roshan the jo sitaare,
vo bhee murajaaye hooye hai
raaste ka moosaaphir apanee raah kahee bhatak na jaaye
apanee manjil ko kahee bhool na paaye
aur kitana dard ham sahege ,
par apane lakshy se ham na hatege
hame chalate hi jaana hai
jab tak jinsame jaan hai
aayennge raaho me laakho rode ,
phir bhee hame dheere dheere aage chalana hai
phir najar jaatee hai aasamaan kee aur,
dagamagane lagate phir kadam
maan me hamane thanelee hai ,
hame nahin hai rookana aage aur badhana hai
aaj aasam hooa hai oojala oojala
saphal hogee mere raah ........
by Sanjay Teli
love shayari and poems then just click
for shayari:www.shayaridilke.blogspot.com
for poems :www.poembysanjayt.blogspot.com